


what a dream is worth

by Lire_Casander



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Depression, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: From a very young age, Michael has felt the call of the ocean, but he's never been brave enough to follow it.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56
Collections: Time After Time: A Roswell New Mexico Alternate Era AU Event, there will always be an us (in every world in every story)





	what a dream is worth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bellakitse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellakitse/gifts).



> Written for the [Time After Time Event](https://alterarnm.tumblr.com/) over a Tumblr, **Day 2: pirates**.
> 
> Prompt given by [bellakitse](https://bellakitse.tumblr.com/): **Alex as Pirate King & Michael as townsman (Everyone talks in hush whispers about Pirate King Alex Manes, townsmen Michael Guerin is intrigued and sneaks onto his ship)**
> 
> Title is a translation from _Se está haciendo tarde_ by Maldita Nerea. Beta'ed by [whitneylj01](https://whitneylj01.tumblr.com/)

**i.**

The rumors spread like gunpowder throughout the town. Three kids orphaned by the sea, unforgiving and merciless, and another one vanished from the face of the Earth, God has him in His Grace. The mourners cry louder for the Manes family whoʼs lost their youngest, a healthy child that would have been a good hand once heʼd turned seven, and they fawn over the Evans family for taking in the twins — everyone knows that two kids given birth at the same time, born out of the same mother, were good luck. 

No one ever paid attention to the curly-haired boy who stood by the curb, among the dirt, waiting for someone to notice him. The boy with the big eyes that seemed to take in every detail, always hungry for knowledge just as much as he was starving for food. He just stood still against the wall in the hopes that, should anyone ever lay eyes on him, theyʼd be impressed by his ability to merge with his surroundings. The problem is, he realizes later on, when the tears have stopped and the fake feelings have dissolved into high glasses filled with beer, that heʼs too good at what he does and nobody wants to take him home at the end of the day. 

He watches as his younger siblings are swept away into a Spanish style house in the hills while heʼs left behind, a mess of shredded clothes and broken hopes, and he wonders if his fate would have been better, had the sea taken him instead of his parents. 

They had been living in the barracks while his father worked on building a new ship for the King. He loved it there — so close to the ocean that he could see it from his window every day, and he could daydream that one day heʼd become a sailor and heʼd travel the seven seas in a quest that would be talked about just like every other legend around their town was. 

Heʼd always been drawn to the sea, to the murmurs of the waves and the high-pitched wails of the sails when the ships took off with the wind in their favor. 

One night, the enraged ocean had taken them all by surprise and it had destroyed everything heʼd ever loved. It had been the same night that Pirate Bordail had chosen to attack the Manesʼ warehouse, full to the brim with ammunition and gold. Everything had become hazy while he tried to save Max and Isobel from dying, drowning in the waves that threatened their lives, but he could swear heʼd seen a kid — not much older than himself — running after the pirates as though he was playing. 

Michael doesn’t have much time to dwell on what he thinks heʼs seen, for Master Valenti approaches him a few hours after dawn and offers him a place to stay and a job as an apprentice in the decks. He doesn’t have many other options, and at least Master Valenti has always been nice to him and his siblings. Remaining in town will allow him to keep close to Max and Isobel, even if their now different entourage might prevent them from ever crossing paths again. 

They will be in the same town, breathing the same air, and thatʼs all Michael cares about. 

He quickly learns the musts of his new job as the decks go-to boy — wake up at dawn, help Master Valenti whenever he needs to fix something, remain a shadow absorbing every tiny detail that might seem important. He spends his days working and his nights learning, for Michelle Valenti — since she’s insisted he wouldn’t call her _maʼam_ and _mother_ was out of the question — has taken upon her to teach him the basic tricks of algebra he will need in the future. He watches from afar as his siblings learn to play while he learns to work on wood; he fools himself into believing he doesn’t care as long as they are taken care of, and itʼs evident the Evans are a much more suitable option for Max and Isobel than he would have ever been, only a couple of years older and as lost as they had been after that night when the sea had claimed what was its by right. 

As the years go by and he grows up, his vision on life expands. He learns to be around when the masters are working on the ships in case they need someone to bring them nails or hammers or any other tool, and he learns to call Kyle, the Valentisʼ biological son, when someone gets hurt. By the time they both turn fifteen, Kyle has a reputation for being quick in fixing broken bones and bleeding wounds, and Michael is known for being the go-to boy when something isn’t working properly. 

And still he stares into the ocean whenever he has a chance, torn between what keeps him on mainland — the family heʼs lost, the siblings who are growing up without him, the family heʼs found — and what calls him out to the waves, the siren voices that entice him to wade through the breakwater and just become one with the water. 

**ii.**

By the time Michael turns seventeen, heʼs become one of the most reputed and sought for handymen in the whole area. Heʼs always been a fast learner, and the ease with which he is able to work on wood and metal has earned him a fame that might help him in the future. 

He sees Max and Isobel from time to time, mostly at town events where everyone is welcome. Isobel is one of the most eligible bachelorettes, having been raised and educated by one of the best families around, and Max is the husband every respectable mother wants for their daughter. Everyone has conveniently forgotten about the tragedy that brought them into the Evansʼ household, a whitewashed and perfected tale about fate when Ann Evans had lost all hope of ever becoming a mother spreading around while they were still too young to actually remember anything of their prior life. 

But Michael remembers, all of it. 

He’s grown up to be a decent man, Master Valenti and his wife have made sure of it. They took Michael under their roof, fed him and cared for him like they did for their son, Kyle, whoʼs about to leave for Kingston to start his studies as a physician apprentice. So Michael learns to make the most of his current situation — orphan, a charity case, forgotten by the ones he swore to protect — and takes upon himself the task of becoming the best handyman around, so he can get what Michelle Valenti has always drilled into his head. 

Find a good job. Find a good girl. Find a good house. Work, marry, have kids, survive. 

But he wants to do more than that. He doesn’t just want to survive in a world that hasnʼt been kind to him. 

He wants to _live_. 

Michael wakes up every day way before dawn. Heʼs never needed much sleep anyway, so he makes the most of his time by walking to the shore before the sun starts to peek out in the horizon, before he has to get back to his daily routine of fixing ships and doors and wheels and windows. The Valentis know where to find him if he ever takes too long while he admires the beauty unfolding beneath the first rays of light. 

There are a few ships anchored at a prudent distance from the shore today. He can make out most of the flags, but there’s a shadow of a boat that heʼs only seen once before, once upon a time in his worst nightmare, and his breath hitches in his throat. The black flag of the Wicked Witch of the Sea undulates proudly under the cool breeze of the last flicks of the night. Michael shivers. 

He’s heard the stories about that ship. Heʼs seen the scars of the men whoʼve dared defy Pirate King Alexander by stepping onto his territory. Heʼs heard stories about his crimes, about how he won his ship in a bloody fight, about how heʼs sailed the seven seas and come back from the death. The legend says he is ruthless, reckless, fearless. 

All Michael wants is to find out if the rumors are true. 

He takes one step and then another, all towards the shore, eyes fixed on the ship that’s dominating the bay, called by the silent song of a siren’s voice he can only hear in his head. Michael just puts one foot in front of the other and keeps walking until he can feel the waves softly lapping at his shoes, the water rising up to his knees.

“Michael!” he hears at his back, and he turns around, suddenly shaken out of his reverie. “Michael, what are you doing?”

When he focuses his sight on the source of the sound, he can see Kyle standing by the shore, waving frantically at him to come back. Michael looks down at himself, finding out that he’s knee-deep into the sea, surrounded by nothing by the breeze and the water. “Kyle!” he calls back, trying to make it back to the shore. His feet get stuck in the sand on the bottom of the sea, the bay and the water pulling him into the tide and toward the ship. “Kyle, I can’t get back!”

He tries walking faster. He tries launching himself into the water and paddling at it despite not knowing how to swim. He tries to yell back when Kyle screams for him to try and make it back to the shore.

Michael takes one look back at the ship, and wishes for the sea to allow him to come back. The sudden urge to reach the ship with its black tempting sails dissolves into thin air, his lungs able to expand once again and his feet beginning to move on their own volition.

When he reaches the shore, soaked to his bones and trembling with both cold and an insurmountable fear, Kyle smacks him on his head and Michael feels like he’s back from some bad dream. “What were you thinking about, you moron?” Kyle asks, shaking him. “You were out there, treading the waters toward nothing at all!”

“Nothing at all?” he almost cries, turning around in an attempt to show Kyle the ship that had been calling him, only to find that there’s nothing where the ship used to be. “I swear it was there!”

“What was there?” There’s genuine concern in Kyle’s voice, and Michael can’t give him an answer straight away; he can’t offer him an explanation that will sound reasonable, so he just settles for shrugging and allows Kyle to sweep him away, not looking back at the sea once.

**iii.**

Michael’s twenty-one when he hears that call once again. He’s having his first legal drink at the Wild Pony, DeLuca giving him a hard time even though she knows he can drink now, and Master Valenti smiling from one of the tables by the door. Michael downs another shot of an unidentified liquid and smiles up at Kyle, whoʼs sitting next to him with something stronger than a beer — rum, for the looks of it. 

“Cheers, Guerin,” he says, raising his glass and clinking it against Michael’s. “You’re officially an adult now.” 

“That I am,” he agrees, trying the hide the morose tone his voice gets whenever he hears the door open and neither Isobel nor Max enter. Heʼs heard of the big party thrown when the twins turned eighteen the year before, and he knows there will be another one next year when they turn twenty. He can only imagine the feast theyʼll be treated to once they reach twenty-one. 

Itʼs been years since he last talked to them, forgotten in the midst of memories that blur away in their minds from their early days on Earth. He doesn’t blame his siblings for not remembering — they were so little at the time — but he canʼt help the guilt eating up at him whenever he hears yet another story about the Evans twins and the bright future ahead of them. 

Michael signals DeLuca for another shot, ignoring Kyleʼs frown, and chugs it in one go. The burning of the liquor traveling down his throat kills away any other feeling, not leaving space for anything thatʼs not dizziness. And thatʼs when he hears it — when the liquid hits his stomach and burns away his sins — a voice loud and clear in his head. 

_Come home_. 

He shakes his head, blaming the hallucination on the alcohol thatʼs coursing through his veins, but then itʼs closer, louder, taking up all the space in his mind until all he can _feel_ is the echo of those two words reverberating through his skull. He has to stand up, unsteady, before it gets to his heart and forces him to do some crazy stuff, like he did four years before when he almost drowned because of that voice. 

Itʼs nothing like heʼs ever heard before, but at the same time that voice feels familiar, like a warm blanket thrown over his senses. Michael grabs the edge of the bar for support and stability; he feels Kyleʼs hand on his arm, the care of a brother who wasnʼt meant to be, but all Michael can hear is that voice. 

The door to the bar flies open, shattering Michael’s bubble, and the woman who frantically steps inside takes over the turmoil in his mind. 

“Run! Pirate King Alexanderʼs here!” 

There’s chaos, all of a sudden, people running away, chairs thrown over tables as patrons rush outside and to their houses. Michael remembers the legends, the mysteries around that pirate and his ship, but he canʼt focus on that when there’s a call inside of him, a pull triggering him. Kyle pushes him out, and Michael loses him in the melée formed outside — there are a few fires, people running everywhere, and those who look like pirates brandishing their weapons and shouting. 

“Kyle!” he exclaims, suddenly scared. The crowd start dissolving through the alleys, and he sees how a few men, dressed like townsmen and not like pirates, force their way into the Wild Pony. Michael promptly forget about Kyle who, after all, can take care of himself. Heʼs more worried now about DeLuca and her mother, two women facing a group of men with intentions Michael’s not sure about. He follows. 

He’s not a fighter, but heʼs had his few share of brawls in his life, mostly because he likes to provoke — the pain and the fists are good substitutes for the gaping ache in his heart when he thinks of his family, so he seeks them. Michael pushes back into the bar to find DeLuca using one of her whiskey bottles, cut in half and dripping, as a shield. “What’s going on here?” he demanda before he can stop himself. 

“Leave, Guerin,” she hisses, threatening one of the other men with the broken bottle. “I can take care of myself.” 

“We just want to have some safe haven tonight,” one of the men says, and Michael recognizes Wyatt Long in the way he hunches his shoulders forward, the feral grin he sports. Michael has been wanting to smash his fist in that stupid face since the moment Long said something brutal and equally disgusting about Isobel, so he thinks maybe tonight heʼll have his chance. 

The voice chooses the very moment Michael lifts his hand to show up again, but this time it isn’t inside his head. 

“Are these gentlemen bothering you, maʼam?” 

When he turns around, surprised that heʼs not the only one hearing it for the way DeLucaʼs eyes wide at the interruption, he sees a man around his age, propped against a cane. His brown eyes seem intelligent enough to know that he shouldn’t be getting himself into this fight, but his smirk tells Michael that this stranger is perfectly aware of where he’s stepping into. Heʼs wearing a white shirt thatʼs seen better days, and frayed pants that donʼt hide his injury — if anything, they flaunt the fake leg he wears where his right one should have been. Michael wants to tell him to back off, that heʼs got this under control, but the truth is that heʼs outnumbered and heʼs also mesmerized by the deep edge of the voice heʼs been hearing ever since he turned seventeen. 

“No,” DeLuca replies, a trembling in her voice Michael didn’t hear before. “Everythingʼs good.” 

“Donʼt look like it to me,” the stranger says, hypnotizing Michael with his drawl. 

What happens next, Michael doesn’t comprehend. In years to come, he will try to wrap his head around what he sees, but he wonʼt be able to explain it to Kyle or Master Valenti or Mrs Valenti. It’s simply unbelievable. 

The stranger moves swiftly, dragging his cane around, taking down man after man, until only Wyatt Long stays upright. Michael watches transfixed, completely swept away by the elegance of the stranger when he straightens his back after having taken down the last man between Long and himself. The stranger smirks, his eyes blown by the adrenaline, and Wyatt Long simply squeaks before ducking out of the bar. Michael has to suppress a laugh, trying not to draw too much attention onto himself just in case the stranger decides he’s a good target as well.

“I’m sorry for the mess, ma’am,” the stranger says, tipping his head toward DeLuca and turning around to leave the bar. Michael can’t help himself, not this time, not when he’s realized this stranger isn’t targeting him any longer. He rushes after him and manages to catch one last eyeful of his back as he disappears into the night, his clothes floating in the air as he limps away. Michael tries following him through the narrow streets, against the people running to their homes. He avoids running into some old man dragging a big bag through the mud on the ground, and when he looks up again, he realizes he’s at a dead end. The stranger is nowhere in sight.

He turns around and keeps running toward the sea. When Michael reaches the shore, he sees the ship once again, backlit against the full moon, and the voice carries through the wind to his ears, but this time the sounds echo much more than just some words.

 _Come home, Michael_.

**iv.**

The whole town is bursting with Isobel Evans’ coming of age party. She’s turning twenty-one — pretty much like her twin brother, Max — but Michael has only heard of the ball the Evans will be throwing for _her_. Everyone who’s someone in town is invited to the party, the dress code indicating black tie and the finest gowns women could find. Michael, of course, is getting nowhere near it — being a carpenter on his way to become a Master doesn’t guarantee him an invitation to his own sister’s birthday party. 

So he’s sitting back once again at DeLuca’s bar, nursing a beer because work has been slow and he can’t afford much else. Master Valenti’s too sick to work anymore, and Mrs Valenti has tried to take after her husband, but she’s a woman in a town full of men and with Kyle studying in the big city so many miles away Michael’s all that's left for the family who took him in when he had nowhere to go.

“Guerin,” Maria DeLuca says, approaching him. “Are you going to drink something else or are you going to just brood on that stool the whole night?”

Michael lifts his head up, noticing that his bottle is completely empty — probably has been for a while now — and shrugs. “Brooding is a good look on me.”

“Lemme fetch you something else,” DeLuca offers with a small smile. “On the house,” she adds as she picks a bottle of whiskey and pours some in a glass. Michael accepts it with a bow of his head. They’ve built a strong friendship, Maria DeLuca and himself — the outcasts of a society where the differences are seen as sins, where standing out means being hurt. He feels safe in the Wild Pony, just as much as he does at the Valenti household even though both of them are barely places holding up together by the sheer force of their owners.

“Rumor has it that the Wicked Witch of the Seas will be sailing back these coasts soon,” DeLuca whispers conspiratorially as she leans in.

“Why would I care about that?” Michael tries to say nonchalantly, his heart betraying him in its violent thumping against his ribcage. Every time that ship has been around, he’s heard that voice, he’s felt that pull to leave everything he knows behind and just wade into the wild waters.

“Because you were so ready to jump after that pirate last time they came around here,” she explains matter-of-factly, as though Michael might know what she’s talking about. When he frowns at her, she shakes her head and keeps going. “I know them, you know?”

“You know _them_?” he asks back in disbelief. “You know the pirates.”

“They come around from time to time, get stacked on rum and food, and keep my backyard void of distress,” she says. Michael stares at her without even blinking. Has DeLuca just admitted to have been having an agreement with some of the most feral pirates in the known world? “What?” she demands of him when he doesn’t say anything. “A girl has to do whatever it takes to survive!”

“Not judging!” he says, lifting his hands up in the air. And it’s in that movement that he feels it — the urge to stand up and leave, the siren call pulling at him — and he has to stop mid-movement for fear he might leave everything behind and just bolt once again.

“What are you not judging, Guerin?” comes a familiar voice from the door. When he turns around, he sees Kyle entering the bar. “I knew you were here when I came home and you weren’t around!” Kyle approaches him and throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Valenti!” he greets, the voice dissolving inside his soul as Kyle’s takes all the space, filling his ears with the sounds of _family_ and _home_ and _safety_.

Only he doesn’t feel like either of them, not when a few hours later they stumble outside the bar, holding onto each other, and he sees the silhouette of the ship against the clouds in the sky and the pull comes back full-force, almost making him double over himself.

 _It’s okay_ , the voice whispers in his ear, soothing and caring, even if he doesn’t know how that voice finds him through the wind and the night, through the distance and the space separating them until the sound is the only thing he feels. Be home, for now. I will wait. I’ll wait for you, Michael.

**v.**

At twenty-eight, Michael finds himself sitting on the sand, staring into the distance as he takes in the sounds of the waves and the last rays of the sun hitting his face. He’s all alone, one bottle by his side catching grains of sand by the very bottom as he nurses another one. He feels like his life has just ended — he’s lost his contract with the Manes’ household and his reputation due to a bad move against Flint Manes of all people, and he’s found himself alone without any support since Kyle’s back in the big city being a physician. He replays the events from the night before again and again, trying to find the moment when it all went down the drain. When he can’t pinpoint it, he takes another swig of his bottle, only to find it empty. He sighs and tosses it over to the sea, picking up the second one and dusting the sand off it before lifting it to his lips. He drinks as he remembers.

> DeLuca’s having trouble keeping the drunks out of her bar tonight, since there’s no sign of pirates to keep her backyard free of idiots. Michael’s trying his best to ignore the yells and the noise, focusing on his beverage to celebrate the big contract he’s got to work on the Manes’ household and redo the whole deck from where the wealthiest family in town can overview the sea in the hopes that it brings their youngest back. He’s just minding his own thing, drinking and flirting with Maria DeLuca the same way he’s always done — whenever she’s available, because she’s running circles with all the men who have decided to gather at the Wild Pony tonight. Michael isn’t looking for trouble, but he can’t help himself when he sees a tall man, with a beer in one hand and the other hand busy tracing down DeLuca’s back. She tries to sneak away, all smiles but tense around the shoulders, and the man simply laughs it off and grabs her around the waist.
> 
> Michael sees red.
> 
> He stands up and saunters over where they’re sitting, that man and two of his friends — although he notices some resemblance between them when he approaches the table, so maybe they’re family — and he casually slips himself between two of them. “Having fun?” he says in a voice that doesn’t admit any retaliation. The men don’t seem to catch up on it.
> 
> “Get lost!” the man with his hand down DeLuca’s body says. Michael can see Maria looking uncomfortable, searching the room for any escape but not finding it. 
> 
> And this time, when Michael sees red, it comes in the form of a fist and a punch and a table turned over. And the realization, when he’s managed to break three noses and a few fingers, when he’s gotten himself a nice shine and a black eye and a swollen left hand, that he’s hit not one but the three remaining Manes brothers.

Michael shakes his head. It’s only taken a few hours, but the rumor’s spread fast, and everyone in town knows by now that he’s a troublemaker, that he’s not to be trusted. That he punches before he asks. That he doesn’t respect his contractors. He’s crossed paths with Isobel in the morning for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, and she’s not as much as looked at him. She hasn’t even spared him a glance as she’s brushed past him on her way to church. Michael’s felt lost and angry and disappointed and undeserving, all at the same time — throughout the years, Isobel has managed to find her way back into Michael’s life as she remembered tidbits of their shared childhood, and even though they haven’t been friends, Michael’s hoped they could build some kind of relationship over time. So, he’s gone to the liquor store run by Arturo Ortecho and he’s bought three bottles of his strongest alcohol. And now he’s here, sitting on a beach on his own. He can’t even go to Mrs Valenti’s, not after she’s lost her husband and her son; he hasn’t felt so lost in a long time.

So he’s resorted to his only safe haven in this town.

“Mind if I sit here?” he hears at his right. He huffs. _Great, now I’m having hallucinations_ , he thinks to himself. It’s the same voice that’s been torturing him in his dreams. The voice speaks again, “I’ll take it as a no.” 

When he looks up, he meets the deepest eyes he’s ever seen, and the man with the cane who calmed everyone down at the Pony so many years ago — the same man Michael tried to chase down the streets only to lose him in the melée. 

“It’s you,” he whispers, marveled. “Who are you? Why are you—how are you doing this—?

“Alex,” the stranger introduces himself as he sits down gracefully. “Some call me King Alexander for some reason.”

“You’re a pirate,” Michael states even though he knows that he’s right. He’s staring into King Pirate Alexander’s eyes as he speaks. Suddenly he realizes that he’s been hearing the voice of a pirate luring him into the sea, and it should scare him, but all he feels is trepidation.

“That I am,” King Alexander replies. “Just call me Alex.”

“Alex,” Michael repeats stupidly. “How did you—I mean, I—”

“There’s some kind of magic going around these waters,” Alex explains with a smile. “They keep making me look out for you for some reason. I know you can hear my voice in the night, Michael.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Told you,” Alex says again. “There’s magic in these waters.” He stands up, favoring his left leg and wincing when his weight shifts from his fake leg to his flesh one, and he offers a hand to Michael. “Come home, Michael.”

Michael blinks at him once, twice, and makes up his mind in a matter of seconds.

He reaches out and takes that hand.

**+**

He’s learned a lot in the past years, Michael realizes one morning when he’s getting ready in the cabin he shares with Alex. He buttons his white shirt, which doesn’t have any holes and is in almost perfect state, and he tries to tame his curls before turning to the silhouette under the covers and smiling down at the lump lazily moving.

He’s learned that he can be whoever he wants to be. He’s learned that he deserves love and understanding and respect. He’s learned that his place wasn’t building bridges and walls out of woods, but sailing the seas under black sails. He’s learned that he belongs to the waters that called him in for years, with a voice he ignored for so long.

“What’s today looking up for us, captain?” he asks, sitting down on the bed and patting the lump underneath the covers.

“Some pirating to do, I guess,” Alex murmurs, groaning when Michael pulls the covers off and the light hits him fair and square. “You filthy—”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you know how filthy I can be, _captain_ ,” Michael retorts with a smirk of his own when he feels Alex’s eyes roaming up and down his body. “But it’s time to go do some captain things, Alexander.”

Michael laughs when Alex simply groans again and turns his face into the pillows. He leans in and leaves a kiss on Alex’s temple before standing up once again and beelining for the door. He dares a look back and a new, warm smile creeps its way on his face when he notices that Alex is still facing away from him. Who would have thought Pirate King Alexander is certainly not a morning person?

Michael has learned a lot about being a pirate and living as an outlaw in the past few years. He’s learned that a crew is like a family — that the men and women fighting together for a loot or a ship will always have his back once they accept him into their circle — and he’s learned that there’s much more to life than staying put in the shore while he watches his life displayed in front of him. He hadn’t had the chance to actually _live_ , despite Jim Valenti’s efforts to give him a future and Michelle Valenti’s decision to help him through everything. He’d been surviving, always underneath the shadow of a boy who wasn’t his brother. He’d been simply existing while his true siblings had been graced with the luck of being raised and fed by people who loved them just like their real parents have done. Michael had felt the love of the Valenti family, but he had never felt like he belonged there.

As he steps into the bridge, overlooking the endless miles of waves, blue and white against the neverending horizon, Michael feels at home in between the breeze hitting his face and the salty splashes of water wetting his cheeks. He always felt drawn to the sea, to the faceless immnesity of the unknown, but he was never brave enough to leave everything behind. He’d needed a call to be woken up, a voice to haunt him until he was ready to heed it. He’d needed to be found instead of finding. He’d needed to be loved instead of just stalling.

Michael smiles when he feels arms sneaking around his waist. He doesn’t have to look back to know Alex is placing his chin on Michael’s shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. Michael had never even spared a thought about the boy who disappeared the same night his family died, swept away by the ocean, but life has had a way to bring them together. He’s learned that Alex had willingly gone with the pirates who had raided his family’s house; he’d been raised by tough men and women who lived outside the law but by their own rules. He’d become a pirate and then he’d become their king, and they respected him over the course of his own life of crime.

And now he’s sharing that life with Michael. Alex sought him, cared for him, and took him in when he most needed it. Michael will be forever thankful, but he’s also feeling on cloud nine whenever he thinks of Alex. He doesn’t think they’ll ever be over this happy phase where all he wants to do is spend all his time with Alex.

“I love this,” Michael smiles, pointing at the horizon.

“And I love you,” Alex says, kissing his neck softly. “Happy pirate birthday, Michael.”

“Happy anniversary, Alex,” Michael tells him, finally turning around and claiming those lips like he’s been doing for the past three years.

Michael Guerin might not have a blood family who loves him anymore, but he’s found love in the most unexpected of places. And he’s happy about it.


End file.
